Popcorn
by demondreaming
Summary: Quinn had known Santana had a heart for a while. That the snarky cheerleader wasn't all tough words and angry glares. That she shone, but only for one person. Brittana. Rated T for language.


**Disclaimer: Glee does not belong to me, nor any of my aliases.**

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Quinn had known Santana had a heart for a while. That the snarky cheerleader wasn't all tough words and angry glares. That as much as she tried to pretend, as much as she tried to hide that beating heart of hers, it shone through sometimes, so brightly. But only for one person.

The first day Brittany had walked up to them, face bright and blank, hands clasped together in front of her, Quinn had feared what the acid-tongued Santana would say. She'd met Britt the first day she'd joined the squad. She wasn't exactly the brightest bulb, but she shone bright when she wanted to. She was sweet, harmless. The exact opposite of Santana. Quinn had watched in wonder as Santana's tongue tripped over itself, brown eyes widening. And instead of the barbed sentence Quinn had been expecting, all that came out was a short, "Hi." Chopped off and choked like someone had squeezed Santana's throat.

It didn't take long to notice that Brittany was the only one Santana didn't insult. The only time Quinn ever saw Santana smile was when Britt was around. And even then, it was small, hidden, stripped away quickly in case anyone saw. It made her wonder what Santana was like alone with Brittany. If she smiled even wider. If she laughed. It was an unsettling thought. It was like finding out a snake didn't have fangs, or rather, that it's bites weren't always deadly. To find out it had warm blood, instead of the ice she'd always thought.

She'd watched as Santana's _I's_, turned to _Brittany and me_, and then just became _we_. We're going to _Breadsticks_, we're practising a new routine, we're getting slushies to hurl at Berry. And maybe Quinn would've understood if Brittany had just become Santana's loving little shadow, but she wasn't. She was Santana's partner, her equal, and she was only that because Santana treated her that way. When she was around, it took some of the edge off Santana. She was like a sheath, covering the blade of Santana's tongue. You knew there was still steel there, but it was softened a little. You knew there was a barrier in its way. Not that Britt ever did much to sweeten Santana. It was the other way around, really. Brittany started saying mean things in such a sweet voice, and you could almost hear the echoes of Santana in it. Brittany just accepted everything Santana said as fact. Quinn had asked Brittany one time, as they sat alone after practise. "Why do you hang out with Santana? She's such a... such a... _bitch_."

Britt had shaken her head, a little smile on her face. "No, she's not. She's really sweet." And then the first cloud Quinn had ever seen on Brittany clouded the horizon of her brow. "But she's scared." The words had come out soft, on an exhale, and then Britt's face had cleared and she'd been the same happy, clueless girl Quinn had always thought she was. It made Quinn wonder about their secret sides. She knew everyone had a side they didn't show anyone. She'd run a hand over her face, pensive. She knew all too well. It made her wonder how much of Santana and Brittany were hidden away, and how much of them was real. Which side was more real? The side they showed to each other, or the side they showed to the world?

Despite the way they all acted sometimes, Santana and Brittany were really the closest friends Quinn had. She was happy for them, even it was begrudgingly sometimes. She wasn't sure of the first time they'd kissed, the first time they'd slept together. She imagined it was by the time she noticed that Santana's sly gazes at Brittany, that ran over her form, that traced her every curve during their routines, stopped being furtive and started being openly appreciative. She'd never asked if they were dating. She hadn't had to. Santana made it clear, time and time again, that her and Brittany were just 'having fun'. That Britt could do what no man could, sometimes. Quinn always figured that something was make Santana feel something. Something besides anger, besides hate. Something warm and fragile that she was too scared to admit to having. Quinn could see it in her eyes so easily. But how do you talk to someone covered in thorns? How do you tell them the one thing they're terrified of hearing? And Quinn knew Santana was terrified. She might not necessarily love, or even really like Santana all that much, but she knew the girl inside and out. She could hear it in every strident denial, see it in every arm hooked around Puck, every story about her fucking some guy, right in front of Brittany while she smiled along, ever supportive.

Quinn might even understand Santana's side of it. The fear of people finding out who you really are, of them casting you out. Highschool's a hard place to survive. If you're not popular you're nothing. You're the bottom of the foodchain, everyone's punching bag. You're Berry. You're some gay kid no one bothers learning the name of, because it's so much more fun to throw them in a dumpster, to blame it on being a kid, on the status quo. Quinn knew the rules, and you didn't go against them. She understand why Santana hid. It was necessary. But she didn't understand Brittany's side of it. Brittany denied it too, but instead of that desperate edge, her words were slow and measured, something she'd learned to say, to repeat when asked. She didn't have that same fear Santana did. It took Quinn a while, but she figured out what Brittany's problem was. It wasn't that she was slow, that she was stupid, no, it was that she was special in an entirely different way. She was full of love, and it wasn't a surprise that no one understood. Quinn could barely comprehend it. Britt was unfailingly sweet to everyone, but for her recycled cruelties, erroneous facts pounded into her by Santana. She didn't make out with everyone because she was a slut, she didn't sleep around to be popular. She did it because she could love anyone. But no one loved her. Her one night stands weren't the result of her, but of the people she chose, because that's all they expected. Slutty cheerleader only wants to fuck. Quinn had seen Britt give everyone a chance, regardless of their social status, their appearance, even their gender. Quinn honestly believed that Brittany could love anyone, if only they'd love her back. She wasn't the girl too stupid to be in a relationship, too stupid to be loyal, too stupid to love anyone. She was just a girl too full of love to give, who couldn't say no to anyone who wanted it.

And even though Quinn understood it, why Santana had to lie and belittle whatever it was her and Brittany had, she thought Santana was an idiot sometimes for not accepting that love that Brittany so obviously had for her. Quinn had never seen Santana insult Brittany, but sometimes she thought she was crueller to her than anyone. To say again and again that they were nothing. To say it so much Brittany believed it, because why would Santana lie to her? If they were just fooling around, then that was all it was.

Eventually, Quinn just stopped noticing. She forgot to look for that light in Santana's eyes, that softness in her face. That sign of humanity. And Brittany? Brittany hadn't changed since day one. She was still the blank-faced, oblivious girl. The backup for Santana. Nasty by association. She started to believe the refutations, the denials. Maybe they were just fuckbuddies. Just a nasty little word that didn't mean a thing. She didn't understand how they could do that, how anyone could do that. So she stopped thinking about it. Quinn wasn't about to butt her nose in where it wasn't wanted. What they did behind her back was none of her business, as long as they didn't drag her down with them. She didn't need that reputation. She was head of the celibacy club. She was head cheerleader. You have to be perfect. Under all that pressure, she just forgot. And the less she knew, the better. It was better to look out for yourself in highschool, and ignore everyone else. It's what you had to do to stay on top.

Sometimes though, it was thrust in her face. She'd invited Santana and Britt to watch some romantic comedy she'd been excited about at the time. Some grand romance about a bad boy and a good girl, who overcame their fear, who overcame the rules that said they couldn't be together, who broke free of who they were supposed to be. Who had the romance she'd always dreamed of. Some day, later. She hadn't realised she'd had one happening in front of her the whole time. Quinn had gone to get some popcorn. Air popped, unsalted, all natural. Low fat, naturally. It was one of her indulgences, eating popcorn at all. She'd come back just in time to see Santana spring away from Brittany, swiping a hand across her lips. Quinn had been pretty sure that if Santana's skin wasn't so dark, she would've been blushing, and she'd watched curiously as Santana brushed Brittany's hand off her thigh, Britt gathering it back in her lap. It wasn't so much they'd been kissing, no, that wasn't a surprise to Quinn at this point. What'd surprised was that Santana had been embarrassed, had been ashamed. It wasn't some cruel, possessive kiss, some _you're mine, and don't forget it_ kind of kiss she'd seen Santana give to Puck so many times at school. It was something softer, something gentler. Something just for Brittany. Quinn had pretended not to notice, settling on the couch beside them, popcorn offered towards Santana as a peace offering. A way of saying, _I didn't see anything, I don't know your little secret_.

Later that night, curled on her side in her bed, Quinn had listened to the soft gasps and moans that stole from the sleeping bags beside her bed. The hoarse words from Santana to be quiet, the little sounds their lips made. Quinn had pretended to be asleep, face red, back towards them. But some part of her realised this wasn't how she pictured what they'd be like in bed. Not that she pictured it at all. She always thought Santana would be louder, more demanding, not full of soft whispers and gentle sounds. Everything she'd heard from obnoxious jocks said that she was wildcat in bed. That she'd snarl and growl and claw you to pieces. Quinn didn't hear her snarling or growling now. All she heard was this wildcat purring. It'd almost been nice to go to sleep to, to the sounds of love, instead of the whispered barbs her parents flung at each other, hissed but still loud enough for her to hear.

Quinn wondered sometimes what would happen. If Santana would realise someday, if she'd admit it, not just to herself, but to the world. There was no question as to whether she'd be knocked from her social position, it was a certainty. She'd stop being the hot, slutty cheerleader, and just become the bitchy dyke. Maybe they'd last beyond high school, to when that stuff didn't matter so much. Maybe Brittany would be enough for Santana, would be an anchor to hold in her place, and give her courage. Maybe she'd be something Santana would be willing to fight for. Sometimes Quinn thought about saying something, and maybe the person she used to be would've. But she was different now. Anything she did affected her reputation, and once you fell, it was an impossible climb back up. She never wanted to be at the bottom again. It hurt too much to be stepped on. Still, she couldn't stop herself from watching, from wondering how this romance was going to end. Whether this was a comedy or a tragedy she was watching. More than anything, she just wanted to find out if true love could conquer anything. If the bad girl and the sweet girl ended up together at the end. She'd even bring the popcorn.

/

**A/N: So this is my first foray into the Brittana, and Glee fandom. I hope I've paid it honour. Because I am _not_ going back to the salt mines. I don't even like salt. I mean sure, a little on your eggs is nice, but when you're surrounded by it in the mine, you get pretty sick of it. Plus it burns your eyes pretty bad. I got a cut on my finger one time. I spent twenty minutes screaming. I think I broke a dog, it was so high-pitched. **

**Basically, I'm saying please review, otherwise it's back to the mines for me. And I will kill a thousand donkeys before I let that happen.**

**...They use donkeys to move the salt. It's not because I hate donkeys or anything. They're alright.**


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